


Summer of Smut 2: Adam and Johnny Gat

by JoAsakura



Series: Summer of Smut 2019 [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Knife Play, M/M, zombies (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: I took a bunch of smutty prompts. These are those stories.





	Summer of Smut 2: Adam and Johnny Gat

Arapice Island is easier to move about during the day, especially if it’s raining. The undead don’t come out then.

People- _normal, living, breathing folks_ – still make their home on the island. It’s a combination of stubbornness and lack of options, but they persist, and Adam makes sure there are Saints at all the access points. The undead never leave the Island, it’s like they can’t, bound by some invisible barrier, but he tries to make sure that the living can come and go as they need to.

But at night, the fog rolls in off the bay and muffles the lights from the boarded-up windows. The dead roam the streets, and there are sounds in the mist that make even Adam’s hair stand up on end.

“You love torturing yourself over this, don’t you?” Gat whispers in his ear, knife ghosting through the leather of Adam’s jacket, so sharp he doesn’t feel the graze on his skin until the acidic fog touches it and the pain riffles across his nerves. “You are so fucked up.”

“Says the bastard with the pigsticker,” Adam replies, breath curling in the dense, chill air. The metal is strangely warm as Johnny slips the blunted side along his throat. The tiniest twitch and that deadly edge is the one against his jugular and that sting on his chest goes straight into his groin. “Fuck.”

They hear the dead shambling through the fog as Johnny drags the knife down with the precision of a surgeon, leaving the faintest scratch across the golden plane of Adam’s belly before cutting through the dark violet leather of his pants. “I never said I wasn’t,” Johnny laughs softly, twirling the knife before letting it slip into his belt sheath. One hand fists in the mass of Adam’s hair, dragging his head back, and the other between his legs, finishing the ruination of a perfectly decent pair of pants.

There’s a tiny whine in the back of Adam’s throat as his fingers claw into Johnny’s jacket, his old friend’s teeth biting hard at the thick-muscled juncture of shoulder and throat, and he rides the motion of Johnny’s hand as it slides back along his balls and presses into his ass.

Adam’s back is against the ruined wall of an old boatshed, nails and splinters scraping across his jacket as loud as a zombie’s rasping gait, as he bucks down on Johnny’s hand, bringing one of his own down to stroke himself. “Not gonna fuck me, Gat?” It’s meant as a taunt, but it’s desperate and Johnny responds by drawing blood with the bite.

It’s almost as good, and Adam grinds as best he can on Johnny’s arm, letting Gat spread him wider, half-wishing he’d popped the ammo out of one of his .45s for a real twist on things. When Johnny releases the bite on his neck, Adam feels the relief like an explosive round straight from his belly through his dick.

He starts to laugh at the ridiculousness of the thought, come spilling hot over his own fingers, when Johnny kisses his ear. “Maybe you need t’think why its always me yer fuckin’ in this sim, an’ not Angel. Speakin’ of guilt an’ all.”

Adam pulls back enough to squint at him and grunts. “End simulation.” Arapice Island, fog and undeath, flickers to luminescent white, taking Johnny with it. “CID, tell Kinzie if she don’t stop fuckin’ with my programs, I’m gonna bloody fuckin’ space her ass,” he growls, opening his eyes in the pod and scratching across the staticky fabric of his jumpsuit.

He wishes the marks would remain, just this once.


End file.
